Only Survivor
by sexting-with-satann
Summary: EDITED SO ITS EASY TO READ (1st person) A massacre on a subway train leaves one survivor- a mentally unstable homeless teenage runaway. What happens when detective Flacks only option in her best interest is to go against protocol?


I sat on the subway unsure of where I was going. Maybe Harlem or East Brooklyn. I'm a run away. I'm from Lil Haiti, Miami. I always wanted to come to New York, I figured I could get away from all my problems. A poor white girl with an eating disorder and self harm problems in the hood is never a good mix.  
At the homeless shelter they gave us sandwiches but I couldn't bring myself to eat it. Everyone thought of me as selfish. People think because you're in the hood and you're trying to survive that you don't have these problems. They're idiots. I like the subway, I can stare out the windows and get lost in my music. I turn my head beside me and I see an older women. She has dark skin and cornrows.  
She's leaning on a cane and trying to keep her eyes open. I wonder what her story is. Out of the corner of my eye I see two guys cross into our cart. I've always been too afraid to go between those parts of the train. One of the men is white, his head bald the phrase "white pride" tattooed on his neck. There was a swastika on the back of his head. He was carrying, and it wasn't your average hand gun from the looks of it.  
The other man is Hispanic, which is ironic if they're working together. He has average brown hair and is smaller than the white guy. They see me eyeing them and I quickly look away, pulling one of my earbuds out so I can be alert of the situation.  
"Everyone remain silent and no one gets hurt," said the white man pulling out a machine gun that was hidden in his heavy coat.  
That's the biggest lie any shooter says, especially with that kind of weapon. I begin examining the cart. There is an infant in her mothers arms, who is trying not to weep. There is an Asian college kid bobbing his knee up and down quickly. There are 3 homeless men in the corner.  
"5. 4. 3. 2..." It was the Hispanic man counting. "1" That all too familiar sound fills the car as I dart down to the floor. The women beside me has been hit so I quickly role over into her blood pool making it seem like I was dead as well.  
There are screams of innocent lives being ended. The infant isn't crying and I hope it's because he's too scared to. It took me a bit to realize the train had stopped. I kept my eyes shut, not daring to open them until I know those men are gone. This isn't the first time I've been in this situation, and honestly, I'm not too too scared. I try to make my breathing as small as possible, but whenever I focus on breathing, I always feel like I'm not getting enough air.  
"NYPD" I hear a New York accent scream. "Clear." I open my eyes and look up.  
"We got a live one!" Yells a tall lean man running over to me.  
"We need EMS fast."  
"I'm okay," I whisper.  
"I'm detective Don Flack, you've been shot." "No," I whispered sitting up. There was blood all over my shirt.  
"We need EMS now... What's your name?" "Julz."  
"Okay Julz where were you hit?"  
"I wasn't, I... I rolled into her blood pool when I heard gun shots."  
"Stand up," said detective Flack helping me up. I was covered in blood on the entire front of my body.  
"Hey Mac I got 7 DOA's and one survivor," he said into the walkie talkie.  
"Copy I'm coming down now."  
"How old are you?" Asked the detective. "I'm uh 16."  
"Flack. Damn what happened?" Asked a man about the same age as the detective except a little shorter.  
"I don't know, we have one survivor. This is Julz. Come on let's go get something to drink and talk."  
I nodded following him out of the subway cart.  
"Mac, do you have an extra shirt?" Asked Detective Flack.  
"Is she the only survivor?"  
"Yeah I'm taking her to get some coffee," he turned to me, "do you want to change?"  
I shook my head, "I'm fine please just get me out of here."  
"Were gonna have EMS look at you first it shouldn't take too long." I nodded.  
"Do you want me to stay with you?" I nodded again. We went up the escalator and to the ambulance.  
"Only survivor, her name is a Julz. She said she wasn't shot but I still want you to check her out." I sat down in the ambulance.  
"Do you like books Julz?" Asked the man lifting up my shirt. I had to hold back the tears because they'd see how fat I am.  
"Yes" I whispered.  
"Are you from New York?"  
I shook my head. "Where are you from" he asked looking at my scars, checking them to see if they were infected.  
"I was raised in Lil Haiti, then went to Atlanta for a bit."  
"What brings you to New York?" He was cleaning the blood off me. Detective Flack was a few feet away looking to make sure I was okay.  
"I'm chasing dreams."  
"How old are you?" I didn't respond. I was with the police, they would want to call my guardian, which I don't have. He looked at me softly and bandaged up newer cuts. "How much do you weigh?"  
Again I didn't respond. He smiled at me softly. "Detective," he said signalling for him to come over.  
"How is she?" He asked.  
"She has no injury from the shooting. But I will need to escort her to the hospital." "Why?" He asked looking at me. I bit my lip. "She is a harm to herself. You can take her statement but I need for her to go to the psych ward." Flack was stoic.  
"Can I take her to get some coffee, talk to her, and I will personally escort her to the hospital."  
The EMS guy thought for a moment, "ask detective Taylor, that should be fine."  
Flack nodded picking up his cell phone. "Mac hey, our witness needs to go to the hospital... No she is not injured from the shooting but she needs to undergo a psych eval... Yeah I was asking if I could first get her statement you know talk to her, then I will personally take her to the hospital... No I don't know if she has any. Okay thanks Mac."  
Flack smiled at me, "let's go get some coffee after you're all wrapped up."  
I looked at him and tried to smile back. I got up and walked with Flack to his car.  
"So you're from Miami?" I nodded.  
"Where's your family?"  
I didn't answer. He looked at me sympathetically then moved his attention back to the road.  
"Where do you want to get coffee?"  
"Where ever you want."  
The rest of the drive was silent. Detective Flack seemed like such a nice person, but I couldn't bare be put in a home. I hate teen homes so much, I'd much rather be on my own. My prints aren't in the system, and I'm not in the missing person database.  
My mom told me she wasn't coming back when I was 9. She packed up her things and left me alone. I had a kitty, mojo, and he traveled with me for a while until he died. We stayed in Lil Haiti but he had died when I was 11.  
My area was evacuated when a hurricane hit and I refused to go without mojo. So we stayed in one of those tubes at the park, and he had gotten sick. After the hurricane I buried him next to where my friend was buried and took the last of my things and got on a train. Now here I am in the big apple. We got to the coffee shop and I carefully got out of the car. We walked inside and Stood in line.  
"What do you like in your coffee?" Asked the detective.  
"I just want a diet soda, here let me give you some money" I said reaching into my falling apart purse.  
"Nah don't worry about it," he said smiling.  
I bit my lip and took a deep breath. After we got our drinks we sat down at a table in the corner facing eachother.  
"So Julz, you wanna tell me what happened?"  
I took a sip of my soda. "I was just sitting on the train when I saw these men come into our cart. They started shooting so I made it look like I was shot."  
"Can you describe the two men?"  
"One was white, a buffer guy maybe 6'1. He had white pride tatted on his neck and a swatsika on the back of his head. The other guy was a little smaller and Hispanic. Brown hair, no tattoos"  
"Could you ID them in a line up?"  
"I don't know. Maybe, I'll overthink it too much."  
Flack nodded, "do you have anywhere to stay?" I didn't respond.  
"Look, this is off the record. I'm not asking as a detective. I'm not gonna document it, I just need to know."  
"My mom left when I was 9. I usually stay on the subway and sleep there because it's warm. But I get kicked out sometimes so I go to a 24 hour place and hang there."  
"Do you have a job?"  
"I play guitar at the station."  
"Where's your guitar?"  
"Fuck I must have left it on the train."  
"It's evidence now but you'll get it back once the case is solved as long as it doesn't help with the case." I nodded.  
"How long have you been cutting?"  
I was silent for a moment. I didn't know this guy, but there was something in me that made me think I could trust him.  
"Since I was 9." He nodded.  
"I have to take you to the hospital. Have you ever been inpatient before?" I nodded.  
"But you don't have a guardian now. Meaning no one can get you once you're discharged. Fuck."  
No. Not foster care. Anything but foster care. Flack was thinking.  
"Alright I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to call my buddy Carter to come and get you. I'll check up on you everyday. I'll call him right now to meet you at 65th street station."  
I looked at him, "why would some guy take me in?"  
"He owes me a favour, and you both grew up in similar situations."  
"How can I trust you?"  
Flack looked at me. There was a pause, "The way you've seen the world is a trust no one attitude. I understand that, but now you need to trust. Carter is a good guy, lives over in Harlem."  
I bit my lip. "Okay," I whispered after a few minutes.  
Flack picked up the phone to call him~

AN: writing these kinds of stories are very therapeutic for me and I get scared that people will think I'm selfish because of it so please don't think that Don't hate on small errors this was written on my phone- THIS WAS EDITED SO IT CAN BE READ EASIER CUZ THE SITE MADE IT WEIRD CUZ I COPIED IT FROM THE NOTES APP


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